


The hours grow shorter as the days go by

by ziparumpazoo



Category: Fringe
Genre: Book Series: The Dark Tower, Crossover, F/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziparumpazoo/pseuds/ziparumpazoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia and Peter return from Midworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The hours grow shorter as the days go by

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp fill for Wikiaddicted723, who asked for a follow up to _Bleeding Daylight_

The mist turns into a full-fledged fall rain and washes the mud from Olivia's knees. It runs down Peter's bare back in dirty rivulets and raises goose bumps on both their sun-kissed necks. It seems appropriate, Peter thinks, that they left that world the same way they'd come into it – tangled, wet, and dirty.  
  
"There's something to be said for acclimatization," Peter says. It comes out as a puff of steam that hangs in the air between them. "So… My place?" he offers. "Your place?" It's too cold to stand out here and feel awkward about their display of public indecency.   
  
Not that he regrets anything - quite the opposite. At the very least, they're home, and if all this had been Peter taking one for the team to help her make it happen, he certainly had no qualms about that. His motives had been sincere, his feelings for her genuine. This whole trip had started because he'd left Boston in the first place. Because Olivia'd lied to him and it'd  _hurt_.   
  
It wasn't until later, until she was standing in that  _Architectural Digest_  centerfold of an apartment he'd been given, listing the reasons he needed to come home that he'd realized it'd hurt because it mattered to him.

Because  _she_  mattered to him.

Then Walternate had taken her and done things to her she still wasn't ready to talk about, and they were right back where they'd started from. 

And so he willingly gave whatever she asked for, let her take whatever she'd needed.   
  
But from the way Olivia's frowning, with her head canted to one side, her fingers pressed against her lips as if to hold back some horror she's not ready voice, Peter's not exactly sure how all this is sitting with her.  
  
Maybe he should offer somewhere neutral, Peter thinks, somewhere without any pressures or expectations attached. "The lab's just a couple blocks away," he nods in its general direction. And when she doesn't answer, "Olivia?"  
  
She looks up suddenly, startled for a moment before her eyes focus on his and the tense lines of her shoulders under the thin gingham dress soften. "Peter look at this," she says, and it comes out strung together in a single word –  _Peterlookithis._  The way she calls him when they're at a crime scene and she's found something that piques her interest. Olivia's emotions are almost as easy for him to decipher as Walter's most days.  
  
The knot in his chest unclenches, but he barely gets the chance to remind her that they're not really dressed to stand out in the fall rain - some of them are barely dressed at all - because she's hold the gun belt out to him and now he sees what she'd noticed right away.  
  
The belt looks old. Not the used-and-well-cared-for kind of old it had been when Olivia'd first pulled it from the trunk. That belt had obviously been old, but it'd looked supple and well cared for, and had smelled pungently of leather and gun oil.  
  
If he hadn't had his fingers hooked through it only moments ago, Peter wouldn't believe this was the same gun belt she'd worn on the other side. The leather is faded and cracked, and the rawhide stitching around the holster looks so brittle that it might come apart if he looks at it the wrong way.  
  
"What the…" he asks. He forgets about being wet and cold. This has bigger implications.   
  
Olivia shakes her head. "I don't know." She pulls the big revolver from the holster and has to tug to get it loose; the leather's dried and shrunk around it. It comes free with a brittle snap and a palmful of dust that rains down all over Olivia's shoes. Half the barrel is missing and the great polished wood grip is now bleached dry and cracked. It looks old. Scratch that, he thinks, it looks  _ancient_.  
  
Peter's first thought is that something happened to when they'd crossed over – maybe they can't bring matter with them – but that makes no sense, otherwise their clothes would be nothing more than rags and tatters. And Olivia's dress looks fine on her. More than fine.  
  
"What if… " Olivia trails off as she gives him that pained smile that suggests he's not going to like what she'd going to say next. "What if we've been over there longer than we thought? You were keeping track Peter. How many days were we stuck there? What if that place did something to us?"  
  
For a moment, Peter's not sure what she's talking about. He's about to tell her he's not sure, but then he remembers there'd been a book, a black one with onion skin pages he'd dog-eared to mark his place. Or to mark the date. Already it's fading like that last licks of a dream upon waking. In his mind's eye, he can see Olivia standing in the middle of a windswept open plain looking at something out past the horizon.   
  
Olivia tilts her head, waiting for an answer.

Then she frowns. "Or maybe that was someone else." It's fading for her too.  
  
Peter grabs onto her hand tight, holds onto that memory even tighter, and starts them walking across the wet grass toward the footpath, and then on toward the lab. It's not long before Olivia's pulling him through the heavy wooden doors, out of the rain, and down the corridor to the basement and the warmth of the lab, and Peter finds himself wondering if Astrid and Walter will be there, waiting for them to come home.


End file.
